


Sprung

by Meredydd



Category: Sherlock(TV) - Fandom
Genre: D/s, M/M, Sherlockmas, Slash, Spring_into_Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-11
Updated: 2011-05-11
Packaged: 2017-10-19 06:13:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/197836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meredydd/pseuds/Meredydd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for Sherlockmas' "Spring into Sherlock" challenged.  Three prompts: John *loves* Cadbury eggs, Sherlock finds that he likes being submissive to John and Sherlock-John-tattoos.  Graphic sex within...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sprung

**Name:** Meredydd (aka Inelegantscrawl)  
 **Type of work** : _fic_  
 **Category** : _Slash_.  
 **Title** : Sprung  
 **Prompt(s) used** : 3 prompts: John really loves Cadbury eggs, Sherlock finds that he enjoys being submissive to John and John, Sherlock and tattoos.  
 **Rating** : NC-17  
 **Warnings** : _Explicit sex, BDSM, mild D/s, language, mentions of violence_  
 **Notes/Acknowledgments** : Sherlock/John, est. but “newly so”. This fic verges on the cracky, tbh, lol…  
 **Consider this work for voting?** : _Yes_

 

Most of the year, sweets were low on John Watson’s radar. He enjoyed a nice digestive with his tea and the occasional French Fancy but most of the sweets around the flat were for Sherlock. John had long ago given up on trying to make the detective eat sensibly _all_ of the time and instead settled for making sure that Sherlock had something, anything, in his stomach before they went running after another criminal. But Easter…oh, the Easter season made John candy-crazy. Tiny chocolate eggs? Check. Rabbit-shaped lollies? Dozens, hidden in coat pockets and desk drawers. Cakes, pastries, festively colored hard candies? He couldn’t get enough. But the one sweet he absolutely adored, absolutely could not get enough of come the Easter season, was one he rationed carefully. He knew that Cadbury was not going to suddenly stop making the crème eggs, or that Sainsbury wouldn’t run out, but he hoarded the things, keeping them in the one spot in the flat that he knew Sherlock would not search (incidentally, that was John’s shaving kit. For some reason, Sherlock had declared John’s use of cheap disposable razors and off-brand shaving cream to be anathema and the very idea of seeing the kit outside of it’s striped plastic pouch elicited a reaction from the detective akin to asking a little girl if it’d be quite alright if you took her dolly and bashed it against the pavement while she watched). John portioned out one per day during the entirety of Lent most years but found himself, on one very bright April morning in his second year of living with Sherlock, reaching for a second crème egg. _Some people smoke, some people drink, I’m self medicating with sweets,_ he thought as he peeled back the foil wrapper delicately, putting the shreds into an empty tea cup by his elbow.

Sherlock was bent over his (own, for once) lap top and paid John no mind as the doctor ran his tongue down the seam of the egg’s chocolate shell and back again. He did not even look up as John delicately broke the top of the egg with his two front teeth and sucked on the bit of chocolate that landed on his tongue, his eyes closing as it melted and filled his mouth with the sweet, rich taste. Sherlock only gave John a spare glance when the doctor sighed and darted the tip of his tongue out to taste a bit of the filling, the white, thick sweetness making him sigh happily and lean back in his chair. No, Sherlock only abandoned his typing and began to study John in earnest when his flatmate-lover-friend-colleague made a sound akin to a moan and began, for want of a better word, _fellating_ the Cadbury egg. “What?” John asked, tongue lapping at the bit of filling that had managed to cling to his lower lip. “A man can enjoy a bit of candy after a crap day at work.”

“You’re past enjoying, it John. If we were in public, you’d be arrested by now for indecency.”

“Fuck off, mate,” John sighed, deciding not to let Sherlock’s snide comments ruin his seasonal treat. He took another lingering lick, swirling the tip of his tongue inside the shell, and barely managed to hide a smirk as he realized three things at once: Sherlock had not only stopped typing, but he had closed his lap top and, most incriminating, the tips of the detective’s ears were red. “I would think,” John said, pausing in his licking to gingerly poke one finger inside the now-empty shell and then lick the tip of it clean of sticky sweet residue, “you’re jealous of my Cadbury egg.”

“It’s not right to enjoy a sweet that much,” Sherlock snapped. “It’s childish.”

“Remind me again what happened to the French Fancy I brought home last month?”

“Shut up.” Sherlock fiddled with his cuffs as John began to lick the outside of the shell, smearing the etched design from the chocolate as his warm, wet tongue worked across the surface. “It’s bloody warm in here,” he muttered. “Turn off the heater.”

John allowed his smirk to show then. “Heater’s not on, Sherlock.” Is it possible, he mused, taking another long lick of the melting candy, that Sherlock was more human than he liked to let on? John admitted to himself that the sex had been fantastic so far but his flatmate-lover-colleague-friend had been holding back. He couldn’t place his finger on just how he knew this but John _knew_ … He sucked on the chocolate for a moment, thinking. Finally, as his gaze traveled over Sherlock’s pink ears, down the long column of throat and skimmed the fine ridge of collarbone, a thought occurred to him. “Sherlock, would you like a bit of chocolate?”

“What?”

John held out the gooey ex-egg, the remains only barely identifiable as a Cadbury crème. Sherlock raised a brow and leaned back in an imperious manner, one John had come to see as a time-buying tactic. He smiled again and wiggled his finger suggestively. “Would you like a bit of chocolate? All you have to do is ask.”

“I can get my own, thank you.” His eyes, though, never left John’s fingers. “Besides, that one is all…lippy.”

“Mmmmmmm.” John then proceeded to do exactly what Sherlock had accused him of minutes before—he fellated the chocolate shell in a manner both dirty and silly, knowing full well that if he stopped and even began to imagine what it looked like, him sitting in his favorite chair, eyes closed and mouth wrapped around the nub of candy like the head of Sherlock’s cock, he would burst into giggles and ruin the moment. Such as it was. “It’s going fast.” He swirled his tongue around the tip of the candy and raised his eyes to meet Sherlock’s gaze. “Last chance. Just…ask.”

Sherlock felt himself moving before he realized what he was about to do. John seemed just as surprised as he when Sherlock knelt between his open thighs and pressed his hands against John’s chest. “Please, may I have a lick?”

John’s stomach did a little flip. “Of what?”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes and felt his patience thin just a bit around the edges, but the feeling of John’s body beneath his hands, his lover’s knees squeezing against his ribs… “May I please have a lick of your chocolate?”

John held out his finger and Sherlock tilted his head to one side like a very curious puppy. Slowly, he took the chocolate covered digit between his lips, letting his tongue play across the tip, smearing and lapping at the thick sweetness there. John went very still as the rest of his finger disappeared into Sherlock’s mouth, the gentle suction sending a bright red bolt of need directly to his groin. He nearly moaned aloud as Sherlock drew back, letting his finger go with a soft _pop_. He looked down at his lover kneeling between his legs and felt a rush of something heady, something more than lust or even love. Want, need, desire, all muddled together with a dose of nervous uncertainty. “You look gorgeous,” he began and before Sherlock’s smirk could take root, added, “down on your knees like this. I don’t think this happens nearly enough.”

Sherlock sat back on his heels and looked up at John with a thoughtful expression. “I’ve sucked your cock,” he pointed out. “I was on my knees for that, every time.”

“Not the same,” John breathed, the growing pressure in his groin beating in time with his heart. Slowly, giving Sherlock every chance in the world to pull away, to deny him outright, John reached out with his sticky fingers and tangled him in his lover’s dark hair, tipping his pale, angular face up and pulling him close at the same time, hesitating for just a breath before pulling back.

Sherlock frowned. “What?”

“Earn it,” he said softly. “I want you to show me you want this.”

Sherlock’s frown deepend but he didn’t push away from John, didn’t snort or laugh or deride. Instead, he lowered his gaze and, in a gentle mockery of a submissive tone, simpered, “Please, Master, I need you to kiss me.”

It was John’s turn to frown. He tugged at Sherlock’s hair, eliciting a hiss of surprise from the kneeling man. “If you’re going to make fun… I didn’t tease you about the nibbling, did I?” Another tug and John rose to his feet, nudging Sherlock back with one knee until there was some distance between them, enough for John to be able to breathe but still maintain his grasp on the handful of dark, thick hair. “Now. Let’s try this again.”

Something inside Sherlock curled to life, wiggling free from layers of refusal and denial, poking green shoots up and straining towards John’s hand. “Please,” he said, his voice softer than either man expected, “please, may I kiss you?”

“Oh, yes,” John breathed. He started to lean in but jerked back in surprise when Sherlock moved quicker, pressing an open-mouthed kiss against the obvious erection before him. “Sherlock!” His fingers curled reflexively and he felt his knees begin to tremble as Sherlock’s open mouth pressed, his tongue laved and his teeth scraped. John could feel, through the thin fabric of his pyjama bottoms, Sherlock’s tongue seeking the head of his arousal, trying to maneuver fabric and foreskin and flesh and—“Stop,” he hissed. “Wait.”

Immediately, Sherlock sat back, hands on his knees and eyes lowered. He was breathing hard, ears glowing red now, erection peeking from the folds of his dressing gown. His thoughts, the mad whirl of ideas and images and knowledge and what-if, had not been silenced, as he had half-hoped and half-feared, but as he watched John step out of his pyjama bottoms and sit back in the comfy chair, Sherlock realized that his rushing brain had become calmer, focused. Things did not seem so scattered. This was John sitting in front of him, John trusting him and offering himself to him, John knowing that nothing would happen without his say-so. Sherlock felt an odd little glow of pleasure at that idea, at the knowledge, the sure evidence that his lover, his friend, trusted him so implicitly. He raised his eyes further and met the other man’s gaze. At John’s subtle nod, Sherlock moved forward.

The first touch of Sherlock’s mouth on his bare skin sent a gold-white jolt of pleasure straight to the base of John’s spine. “Oh, God,” he groaned, his voice lower and louder than expected, filling the sitting room. He could feel Sherlock’s smile against him and he took a shuddering breath. “Keep your hands on my thighs,” he rasped. “Don’t touch yourself until I say so.” A brief hesitation, then he felt his lover’s hands, nails biting gently into his thighs. “You’re going to make me come and you’re going to swallow every bit, is that understood? Raise one finger for yes, two for no.” Sherlock did not stop laving and sucking at the head of John’s cock, raising one finger in agreement. “If you do as you’re told, then I’ll do something special for you. Understand?” One finger. “Good. Good…” Toes curling into the rug, John moaned his pleasure, thrusting gently, then more determinedly into Sherlock’s mouth. Sherlock held tight to the base of John’s cock, taking a bit more in each time his lover thrust, raising two fingers when he had a bit more than half in his mouth and throat. Too much, he wanted to say, you’re too much, but John understood, eased his thrusting, moaning in renewed pleasure as Sherlock took his spit-slick fingers and began teasing his balls, squeezing and dipping beneath them, pressing just _so_ at the flesh there, raking his nails gently just above the puckered entrance he so wanted to thrust his own cock deep inside.

John could barely keep himself in check as Sherlock teased his perineum, the sharp then soft touch of nails and fingers on the sensitive skin making him want to whimper and squirm. Taking several deep breaths to calm himself, he brought both hands to Sherlock’s hair and tugged sharply. Sherlock did not stop his ministrations but moaned, the vibrations of that low sound thrumming through John’s cock, straight to the base of his spine. Fingers pressed in then, taking advantage of his raised hips, the tips barely breaching his entrance but teasing enough, just enough, to send him over the edge. “Swallow,” he hissed. “Now!”

Sherlock did as he was bade, closing his eyes as he felt the first throbs of John’s release against his tongue, the pulse of his cock and spurt of salty, bitter semen making him want to suck harder, take him entirely in. He looked up at John, seeing the flushed face and closed eyes and slack mouth. _I made him feel like this. I put that look on his usually calm face… I want more…_ He licked at John’s softening cock, trying to keep it in his mouth, squeezing the smaller man’s thighs in an attempt at refusal when he was finally-gently-pushed away.

“Oh, God, Sherlock,” John said, sounding a bit shaky. “I..was that okay?”

He dropped his hands to his lap and met John’s gaze boldly. “Was I good?”

“Pardon?”

“I did as I was told…was I a good boy, then?”

John felt his face redden. His cock gave a half-hearted twitch at Sherlock’s tone, at the sight of him kneeling there, all angles and dark curls and wide eyes, looking like a first year student at uni, waiting to be called on the carpet. “Yes,” he rasped. “Very. You… you get a reward.”

Sherlock smiled and rose up on his knees, hands going to his belt buckle. “Thank you, sir…” As he pushed trousers and pants both down, he licked his lips and smiled. “May I make a special request, just this once?”

“S..sure…”

“I want to lick your tattoo, the one on your hip you pretend I don’t know about.”

“Oh, God, yes.” He closed his eyes and let his thighs part as Sherlock moved in close. Maybe tomorrow, he thought, he could see if Sherlock would consider a bit of role playing…


End file.
